


Never Once Did I

by foolishgames



Series: Care and Feeding [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kittens, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-11
Updated: 2012-08-11
Packaged: 2017-11-11 21:54:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/483287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foolishgames/pseuds/foolishgames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean wants a kitten.  Sam wonders why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Once Did I

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to livejournal July 2007

The bookstore is surprisingly good for a small-town second-hand place. In accordance with the rules of second-hand bookstores, the interior is bigger than it appears on the outside and it consists of a series of small, narrow, interconnected rooms filled with haphazard stacks of books, magazines, overstuffed armchairs, and a strange musty smell.

Sam is practically in heaven.

He’s lost in a section of trashy seventies science fiction, chortling over the cartoonish covers and clichéd taglines, when somebody says, “Excuse me, can I help you with anything?”

Sam looks up. The guy is maybe twenty-five, a couple inches shorter than Sam, with bleached blond hair and brown eyes. He blinks. “Uh, no. Thanks. Just looking.”

The guy smiles and nods, brushing past Sam closer than he has to. “Well, I’m just in the front room. If you need anything, give me a yell.”

Sam nods, already distracted by a particularly interesting-looking cover depicting a half-naked woman tied to an altar of some sort, and a bunch of tentacles. Dean would get a kick out of this, he thinks, and smiles.

It’s a while before he wanders back out to the front room. He’s had to restrict himself to just a few books – some poetry, some Tolkien he hasn’t read before, and the tentacle-rape book for the sheer spastic horror of the cover illustration, which he’s going to show Dean as soon as he finds him. The guy at the counter looks up and smiles as Sam sets the books on the counter. “Find everything you needed?” he asks, and raises his eyebrows when he spots the tentacle rape.

“Yeah,” says Sam, but spots a shelf over the cash register and sighs. The collected works of Terry Pratchett, he’s pretty sure, won’t fit in the trunk of the Impala. Dean would kill him. He can’t afford it – no, actually, the sign over the shelf puts them at a dollar each, which means he can, and that just about uses up the last of his excuses.

“Pratchett fan, huh?” The guy behind the counter smiles at him.

Sam nods. “Yeah. I had a lot of them when I was in college, but,” They burned up in the fire. “ – not anymore.”

“So?” the guy reaches out, like he’s going to start pulling the books down, but pauses. “It’s a good price,” he says, almost coyly, smiling at Sam from under his eyelashes.

Sam blinks. The guy is flirting with him. He feels his face heat. “I – uh. Maybe just one or two.”

The smile that lights up the guys face is way out of context, and Sam starts to feel a bit guilty. He quickly grabs the two most recent from the end of the shelf and adds them to his purchases, flashing his most perfunctory, talking-to-witnesses smile.

The guy lets his hand brush against Sam’s as he passes over the change, makes eye contact boldly. “So, uh,” he says with a little smile.

“Thanks for this,” says Sam. “I’ve gotta go meet my b-boyfriend.” He doesn’t hang around to see the hopeful smile fade into disappointment, but makes a speedy exit.

The incest thing hits him at the weirdest times. He’d almost said ‘brother’ reflexively in there, before catching himself and remembering that, no, having a brother does not usually discount one from awkward flirtation with pretty boys in second-hand bookstores.

Unless you’re having sex with your brother. Which Sam is, on a nearly daily basis and with great enthusiasm. It doesn’t bother him as much as he thinks it probably should.

Dean is not anywhere he can see on what Sam has taken to calling the ‘village green’ inside his head – a garden park inexplicably surrounded by stores, or possibly a strip mall with a park in the middle. He wanders over the neatly cut grass, past the squealing kids playing in the bright sunlight and the gossiping mothers with their baby carriages and takeaway coffees. Dean’s not in the little all-purpose grocery store stocking up on food and candy, or in the little pharmacy replenishing their battered first aid kit, nor in the music store.

Sam twists around in the middle of the green and checks his watch. He’s not surprised that Dean’s finished all the errands he had; Sam was in the bookstore for over an hour. He pulls out his phone and texts Dean: where r u?

Waiting for his brother’s reply, Sam parks himself on an unoccupied bench and opens Going Postal. He’s barely begun reading when his cell buzzes. Pet store.

Sam frowns, looking around. There is a pet store, tucked away between a thrift shop and, bizarrely, a quilting supplies store. He shrugs, tucks his book back into the bag and wanders over.

All the proper ventilation in the world can’t stop every pet store he’s ever visited from smelling slightly… off. Sam wrinkles his nose as he steps into the dim little space and spots Dean’s familiar back immediately. He’s talking in low tones to the attendant and standing very still. The attendant, for her part, is gazing up at him with an enraptured, adoring expression that makes Sam scowl.

“Dean,” he says, striding over.

Dean turns his head and grins. “Check it out,” he says, turning slowly, carefully. Carefully because he’s got his jacket pulled back on one shoulder and a tiny grey kitten curled up between the skin of his neck and the leather of his collar, fast asleep.

Sam melts. The expression on the girl’s face makes perfect sense now. It’s the same way Jess used to look around babies and tiny, fluffy things and, strangely, throw pillows.

“Aww,” he says before he can stop himself, and waits to be teased. But Dean doesn’t even seem to notice; he’s lit up, grinning like a kid on Christmas, trying to twist his head so he can see the little cat on his shoulder.

“Isn’t this coolest?” he says. “Look at its little face!” The kitten yawns and licks its chops, and Sam reaches out, slipping his hand inside Dean’s jacket to pet the kitten. It’s so small it fits easily into his hand, his fingers brushing Dean’s neck.

The pet store girl gives a happy little squeak. Sam ignores her, stepping in so he’s crowding into Dean’s space. “Dean.”

Dean looks up at him, still grinning dopily. “Yeah?”

“We really can’t have a cat.” He watches Dean’s face fall, and scoops the kitten up carefully. It squeaks and digs needle-sharp claws into his hand as he brings it to his chest, cradling it.

“Why not?” Dean’s pouting, and his hands come out to cover the kitten, teasing at the soft fur. “I did before.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “That was… different.” He glances sideways at the shop girl. “We can’t.”

“It’s only a baby,” Dean protests, looking mournful.

“It’ll get bigger,” Sam points out, wincing as the kitten endeavours to climb his chest, claws going straight through his t-shirt and scratching up his skin.

“Not much bigger,” breathes the girl. When they both look at her, she blinks. “Well, this kind is bred to be small. You know, indoor cats.”

“See?” says Dean brightly. “It’s perfect.”

The kitten scratches harder. Sam takes his hands away experimentally, and it dangles from the fabric of his shirt. It’s really, really cute. “It’ll piss in the car,” he remarks. Dean looks vaguely disturbed by the thought, and Sam presses onwards. “Somebody will need to clean up after it.” Dean wrinkles his nose. Sam detaches the kitten from his chest and hands it to the girl. “It’ll need to be spayed and microchipped.” He takes Dean’s arm and gently begins to guide him towards the door. “We can’t afford it.”

“We can,” Dean begins, but Sam yanks open the door leading out onto the green and shoves him outside.

“Thank you,” he calls over his shoulder to the poor girl still standing in the middle of the store, clutching the kitten.

Dean scowls at him as they fall into step, walking across the green towards the side street where they parked the car. “Why do you hate kittens?” he complains.

“I don’t. Why are you so set on getting one? Do you need something to nurture?”

Dean scowls and kicks him. “Shut up. It was just a thought.”

He’s moody all the way back to the motel, like he’s embarrassed about getting all soppy over the fuzzy little thing. As soon as they get in the door, he flounces into the bathroom and shuts the door.

Sam wonders sometimes why Dean thinks that having a temper tantrum and acting like a fourteen-year-old girl will re-establish his masculinity. Sam continues to find it sort of adorable.

He boots up his laptop and gets online, idly surfing for jobs while he listens to Dean banging pointedly around the bathroom. He finally comes out, damp around the temples and scowling, and throws himself onto the bed. Sam checks his emails, lets him fume. Finally, he logs off and stands, stretching. He catches Dean’s eyes on him, on the strip of skin where his shirt rides up, and grins a little.

“What do you want a kitten for?” he asks, flopping down next to Dean. He reaches out and rubs a hand against Dean’s belly, feeling the muscles tense and jump.

Dean turns his face away, pursing his lips. “Nothing. I didn’t even. It wasn’t.”

Sam wriggles closer, slipping his hand under Dean’s shirt, stroking the bare skin. Dean sighs. “Did you miss having something little to cuddle? All soft and fuzzy?”

Dean snorts and elbows him, but rolls so they’re face-to-face. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You liked it when I was a cat,” Sam accuses gently.

Dean tilts his head so their mouths brush together; not quite a kiss. “I like you better as a human,” he says.

Sam laughs softly and lets his mouth slip against Dean’s. “Yeah? Why’s that?” He slides his hand further up under Dean’s shirt, skating lightly over his ribs just to feel him squirm.

Dean bites his chin gently. “I have no idea,” he mutters. “You’re noisy and demanding and you make fun of my music.” He thinks about it, gasping as Sam tweaks a nipple playfully. “And you’re not as entertaining. You were funny when you were a cat.”

“Hm,” says Sam thoughtfully. “You like it when I’m noisy and demanding,” he notes, and pushes Dean’s t-shirt up to his armpits. “Take this off.”

“Bossy fucker,” Dean says, but sits up and pulls his shirt over his head. Sam lies back against the pillows and grins up at him. “What?”

Sam shakes his head. “Nothing.” He skims his knuckles across Dean’s ribs absently. “You look good.”

Dean smirks a little. “Duh,” he says, leaning down and licking at Sam’s mouth.

~

“It’s for when you leave,” Dean says later, out of the blue. He licks soy sauce off his fingers, and shrugs at Sam’s puzzled look; they’d been talking about Transformers, sitting with their meals spread out on the other bed. “I’ll go crazy without something to talk to, man. And a cat will be all judgemental and superior and smart. Like you.”

Sam blinks, and then blinks again. “What?”

Dean avoids his eyes with the ease of long practice. “You know. When you go back to school.”

Sam sits up straight, spilling spicy salad dressing on himself. “Wait, what?”

Dean looks at him then, and on his face is this look. Like he’s disappointed but determined, a kind of sad knowledge combined with buck up, little camper. Sam thinks he gets it. And now he kind of wants to hit Dean. “It’s okay,” Dean tells him, but his voice is schooled even, his face carefully blank. “I know that you want more. A life, whatever. I’m not gonna hold you back from it.”

Sam stares at him for a moment, then puts his salad on the nightstand and takes the cardboard container from Dean’s hands. He reaches out. “You’re a dumbass,” he says, grabbing Dean’s wrist and pulling him closer. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Dean shrugs and tries to pull away. “It’s no big deal.” He turns his body away, giving Sam his back.

Sam tackles him.

Dean flails and struggles, but Sam has got him pinned good, facedown on the bed, and he won’t be able to shift Sam without potentially hurting him. “Get off, Sam! I don’t -”

“You don’t,” Sam cuts him off, speaking directly into his ear in a low voice, “know shit about what I want.” And just like that, Dean goes still.

Sam holds him there anyway, sliding his hands up Dean’s arms to hold his wrists to the bed. “You’re never going to believe me, are you?” he says to the soft hair at the nape of Dean’s neck. “You’re still going to be waiting for me to leave when we’re ninety.”

Dean makes this noise, this little broken sound and presses his face into the covers. “Not gonna live that long, Sammy,” he says roughly.

Sam presses his mouth to the soft skin revealed just above Dean’s collar, and slides off him. “Sure we will.”

Dean stay where is. His head is turned towards Sam, but his face is pressed into the bedcovers and his eyes are closed. “You will. You’ll grow old and have, like, grandkids and stuff.”

Sam swallows the urge to kick Dean off the bed and out the door. He touches his face instead. “They have laws against that. Also, the anatomy doesn’t quite work.”

Dean’s eyes snap open, and for a moment he looks genuinely puzzled. But his face clears, and he frowns. “Sammy -”

“You’re going to say something stupid, aren’t you?” says Sam. “Something like ‘for your own good.’ Or how about, ‘what’s best for you.’ Am I right?”

Dean’s mouth snaps shut. “Well, it is,” he grumbles, but he rolls up onto his side so they’re face to face.

Sam throws a leg over his hip and uses it to tug Dean closer. “You want me to say it?” he asks, and kisses the corner of Dean’s pursed, unhappy mouth. “Right out loud?” He licks slowly across the full bottom lip and kisses the other corner. “No kids,” he whispers, and Dean’s eyes slip shut, so he kisses them too, lightly, one after the other. “No wife. No college.” He presses his lips to the thin skin at Dean’s temple, where he can feel his pulse. “No white picket fence.”

“Sam,” says Dean, and his tone is urgent, almost desperate. “You can’t.”

“I want to,” says Sam. “Just you and me, right? Want me to tell you how it’s going to be?” The freckles across Dean’s nose need to be kissed, so Sam does. “We’re going to visit every shitty motel in the country and most of the ones in Canada. We’re going eat in every crappy diner and drive every back road and get lost and get arrested and get thrown around by ghosts until we can’t walk.” Dean makes a noise that might be a stifled laugh. Encouraged, Sam continues. “We’ll fuck in every state.” That noise definitely isn’t a laugh. “And twice in Texas.”

Dean smiles at that, a flush blooming over his cheeks. “And then?”

Sam settles in, tugging Dean by his neck until they’re nose-to-nose. “When we can’t hunt anymore. When we get too tired to keep going, or one of us gets hurt too bad to do the job anymore, we’ll find somewhere. And we’ll make it safe, like Pastor Jim’s, or Bobby’s.” He pauses. “It’ll be good, Dean. You and me. It’s gonna be real good.”

“Oh,” says Dean, and there’s something like wonder on his face. Sam watches it wash over him, and realises that Dean’s never thought about this, about having a future. He really did think that he’d be alone, really thought he would die before he hit thirty, and that thought makes Sam’s chest tighten.

“Hey, Dean,” he says softly, and Dean looks at him, something brimming in his eyes, and the ache in Sam’s chest gets worse when he realises that it’s hope, and that he’s never seen that in Dean. “I love you,” he says before he can chicken out. “And I’m going to stay with you for the rest of my life, okay?” And he closes his eyes, not wanting to see that strange, open, painful look on Dean’s face anymore.

“You are such a freaking girl,” says Dean, and tangles his fingers in Sam’s hair.   
”Could we have a cat?”


End file.
